Pete Hoggs-Breath #3

It was a cold December evening as Pete Hoggs-Breath emerged from the church basement where the local Alcoholics Anonymous meetings were held. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, trying to shield himself from the biting wind. Grace walked beside him, her breath visible in the frosty air. Her sharp, determined gaze lingered on Pete as he trudged forward, his movements sluggish from the weight of his fourth meeting in as many days.

"You’re doing better, Pete," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "Four meetings in four days—that’s a good start."

Pete gave a half-hearted shrug, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah, well, it’s not like I’ve got much choice, do I?"

Grace stopped, placing a gloved hand on his arm to make him face her. "No, you do have a choice. And you’re making the right one. You’re not going to fix everything overnight, but at least you’re showing up. That’s something."

Jack, a wiry man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, pulled up to the curb in a beat-up sedan. He rolled down the window, the interior of the car reeking of cheap cologne and stale smoke.

"Need a lift?" Jack asked, his thick accent hinting at origins far from the Midwest.

Grace nodded, gesturing for Pete to get in. "Come on, let’s get you out of this cold."

Pete hesitated for a moment before climbing into the back seat, his larger frame barely fitting in the cramped space. Grace slid in beside him, her presence both comforting and scrutinizing. Jack pulled away from the curb, the car’s heater struggling against the winter chill.

"So," Jack began, glancing at Pete in the rearview mirror, "how’s the AA journey going?"

Pete shifted uncomfortably, the sound of the engine filling the silence as he avoided answering directly. "It’s... a process."

Grace let out a small laugh, her tone light but firm. "That’s the understatement of the year."

Jack grinned, his teeth yellowed from years of smoking. "It’s good you’re sticking with it, Pete. Not everyone’s strong enough to admit they need help."

The drive continued in relative quiet until Jack turned onto a narrow street lined with row houses. He parked in front of a modest apartment building and killed the engine. "Here we are."

Pete followed Grace and Jack up the stairs to Grace’s apartment. The place was small but inviting, the walls adorned with artwork and photographs that hinted at a life rich with experiences. A faint scent of lavender hung in the air, calming and disarming.

Linda, another member of their AA group, was already there, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a cup of tea in hand. She looked up and smiled as they entered. "How’d the meeting go?"

"He made it through," Grace replied, shedding her coat and hanging it on a hook by the door.

Pete stayed silent, hovering near the entrance like an outsider in someone else’s world.

Linda’s smile widened, her eyes darting to Pete. "That’s progress. Come on in; we’re all friends here."

Pete reluctantly took a seat on the couch, his large frame making it creak under his weight. Jack poured himself a drink from a water pitcher on the kitchen counter, his movements deliberate. Grace sat beside Pete, her demeanor shifting from casual to something more intense.

"Pete," she began, folding her hands in her lap, "we need to talk about something serious."

Pete frowned, glancing at the others. "What now?"

Linda leaned forward, her expression soft but determined. "We know you’re trying to get better, but there are things in your past—things you’ve never been honest about."

Jack stepped closer, his towering frame suddenly imposing. "If you’re going to turn your life around, you need to face those demons head-on."

Pete’s heart began to race, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. "What’s this about?"

Before he could get an answer, he felt a sharp prick on his neck. His vision blurred, and the room tilted as he slumped forward, unconscious.

When Pete awoke, his head was pounding, and his mouth felt like sandpaper. He tried to move, but his hands were tied behind his back, his body secured to a chair. The dim lighting of the room cast shadows on the walls, making everything feel surreal. Across from him, Grace, Jack, and Linda stood in a semicircle, their expressions unreadable.

"What the hell is this?" Pete demanded, struggling against the ropes.

"Relax, Pete," Jack said, his voice calm but cold. "We’re not going to hurt you."

"Then untie me!" Pete growled, his anger rising.

Grace stepped forward, her voice steady. "We can’t do that. Not yet."

Pete’s eyes darted between them. "What’s going on? Why am I tied up?"

Linda crossed her arms, her tone sharp. "We’ve given you a little something to help you be honest with us."

Pete’s stomach sank. "What are you talking about?"

Jack lit a cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke. "We’re talking about Chicago, Pete. About the woman who accused you of assault."

Pete’s jaw tightened. "That’s none of your business."

"It is now," Grace said firmly. "You want to become the Secretary of Defense? You think you can just sweep this under the rug and move on?"

Pete’s head spun, the effects of the truth serum making it harder to maintain his composure. "I didn’t do anything wrong. She came onto me."

Linda’s eyes narrowed. "Her husband and kids were waiting for her in their room. Does that sound like a woman who’d throw herself at a drunk?"

Pete stammered, struggling to find a way out of the trap they’d set for him. "You don’t know what happened."

"Then tell us," Grace pressed, her voice unwavering. "Tell us the truth, Pete."

The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as Pete’s defenses crumbled. His body shook from withdrawal, his skin clammy and pale. "I need a drink," he muttered. "Just one. A gin martini. I don’t care if it’s shaken or stirred."

Jack laughed darkly. "You’re not getting a drink, Pete. What you’re getting is a chance to come clean."

Tears welled in Pete’s eyes as the weight of his guilt pressed down on him. "I was drunk," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Too drunk to think straight. She tried to push me off, but... I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop."

Grace’s expression softened, but her resolve remained firm. "So you’re admitting it. You assaulted her."

Pete nodded weakly, his head hanging low. "I didn’t mean to hurt her. I wasn’t thinking."

Linda exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing. "That’s the first step, Pete. Owning what you did."

Jack extinguished his cigarette, his tone lighter but still serious. "Now you’ve got to figure out how to make it right."

As Pete sat there, tied to the chair and trembling, he realized this was only the beginning of his journey. The road ahead was long and fraught with challenges, but for the first time in years, he felt the faintest glimmer of hope—a chance to rebuild, one painful truth at a time.